Sacred Truth

I smell his blood.

I hear his ragged breaths.

I taste the tainted steel dragged across the snow.

Forward, Goddess, forward.

We hunt. We feast. Bring out your bow!

The impure are always desperate—

and they leave the most tracks,

weakened mind, weakened body.

A hunter without.

A predator, hungry.

Goddess, we are near—

See as our saliva drips between our fangs,

his smell fresh, his smell rotten,

open wounds, bloodletting—meat and bone!

Forward, Goddess, forward!

Our prey is alone.

The air is still—waiting. I breathe in, though I do not need to breathe,

and I smell the smoke that comes from burning homes.

I cover my skin in fur for a cold I do not feel,

and hide behind bark older than shrined stone.

I shall make him kneel.

Goddess, we are near, so we must halt

for our teeth and our claws

will not grant a quick death.

Forward, Goddess, forward,

once your arrow

stops his mortal heart

we indulge on his marrow.

The soldier watches a doe that does not yet know fear,

still learning to walk under its first moon cycle.

His bow is taut as his stomach groans

feed us.

Weak little mortal

hunting a weak little doe.

A soldier broken,

the cause and victim of woe.

Hurry, Goddess! Before he strikes

on sacred ground.

There is no balance nor honor in desperation.

My bow is drawn.

We hunger for the kill!

My muscles tighten.

Soon this intruder will be gone.

We hunger for the kill!

The doe looks at me.

Then the soldier does too.

We hunger for the kill!

—a breath is cut short—

And the doe runs deeper into the woods.

They charge before the soldier's body

falls onto the snow.

Biting, tearing, feasting!

Forward, my pack, forward, and be true,

do as nature asks of you.

Thank you, Goddess.